


Circle of Two

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 05:31:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair and Jim talk things out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Circle of Two

Disclaimers: You know we don't own  
'em. We know it too.

Notes: Sentinel Too spoilers. Sorry, we couldn't resist. <g>

Warnings: None.   
  

Circle of Two  


by

Aramae and Thalasia

Jim Ellison closed the door behind the last of the well-wishers from Major Crimes and turned back to study the man propped up on the sofa. Blair looked like hell, but then what did he expect after the kid had drowned and then nearly died again from pneumonia? He still had far too little color in his pale cheeks, and his eyes looked a little vague from the medication. His favorite blue shirt hung too loose from his shoulders, and he carried a heavy aura of exhaustion around him. 

He'd almost died. Not once, but twice. The doctors still said it was something of a miracle he'd pulled through at all, much less without any apparent brain damage. Without even trying, Jim could picture Blair's face, still and closed, could remember the aching time when he couldn't hear a heartbeat from his Guide. He swallowed hard, pulling back from the memory before it dragged him down into a zone. He didn't have time for one of those now. 

"You..." He sucked in another breath, appalled at how hard it was to talk to Blair. "You want some tea or something?" 

Blair's blue eyes lifted and focused on him for a moment. Apparently his partner didn't find this easy either. "No. I'm, um, fine." 

The anthropologist looked away, his gaze restlessly sliding around the room. Jim had returned all the furniture to its former place. The living room hadn't been difficult -- he could have arranged the pieces blindfolded. Blair's room had been nearly impossible. Every box Jim had unpacked had held a silent accusation. He'd forced himself through it, though, not wanting Blair to come home to any uncertainty about his status. 

Jim became acutely aware of standing by the door, frozen in place, unable to force a move in any direction - toward Blair, away from him, into the kitchen, onto the sofa. Sunlight spilled through the loft windows, giving the hardwood floors a burnished glow. A small bluejay flapped over the skylight. The sounds of muted street traffic drifted into Jim's ears. Could Blair hear the noise too, or was it his Sentinel skill automatically compensating? He couldn't tell. The kitchen clock ticked each second away, and floating dust mites tickled Jim's nose. 

"Stale in here," he muttered, and moved past Blair to the patio doors. He swung them to open to the fresh air, then worried about the spring breeze's effect on Blair's recovering lungs. He adjusted each door meticulously before turning back to the living room. He cast his attention for something, anything, to focus on next. The stereo. Music might mask the silences between them, give them back both melody and rhythm. 

"Pick one, Chief," he offered, sliding his hand to the CD rack. "Santana? Jimmy Buffet? The tribal drums of the Kokomuzu?" 

Brows furrowed in confusion, Blair looked at him as though he'd lost his mind. "No music, okay?" His left hand lifted, then dropped from some aborted gesture. "It's hard enough to think with all this crap in my body." 

He shifted, grimacing slightly, and Jim could hear a small catch in his breath. Without thinking the Sentinel headed for the sofa, intent on helping. He caught himself half a dozen steps away, unsure if assistance would be welcome. While he stood there, immobile, Blair settled again and pulled the dark green afghan up tighter against his neck. 

"Are you cold? I'll shut the doors." Jim spun, needing to do something, anything to make this distance between them disappear. In the hospital, there'd been too much outside distraction to worry about any tension between them. Blair had been unconscious for nearly a day after his heart started beating again. Once the fever and infection had kicked in, he'd slept most of the time and been barely coherent while awake. Their coworkers from Major Crimes had obvious engaged in some behind-the-scenes negotiating, with someone always showing up to keep Jim company in his long, horrible vigil. Their diligence and friendship, along with the frequent interruptions from hospital staff, had left the Sentinel and Guide with little privacy and almost no opportunity to discuss what had happened. 

Now they had privacy. They had opportunity. And all Jim wanted was to flee. 

"Jim." The quiet voice froze him in his tracks. He knew that serious tone. Blair had made up his mind to talk about something, and he wouldn't be put off. "Leave that door alone. Come here." 

"But you're cold," Jim protested automatically, one hand wrapped around the brass handle. 

"Come here," Blair insisted. Jim looked at him. His partner smiled at him faintly. Jim tried to think of another excuse, then wondered why the hell he *wanted* an excuse, then simply surrendered and went to the sofa. He took the opposite end of the sofa as not to jar partner's cushions. Blair's left hand peeked out from under the afghan and lay open and waiting between them. Jim took hold of it awkwardly, tension radiating out of his neck and shoulders. 

"This is nice," Jim lied. He hadn't felt so utterly awkward since his first date, Mary Lou Kellerman, who'd been two inches taller than he and a much better kisser. 

"Yours was the first face I saw when I woke up," Blair said, quite unexpectedly, ignoring Jim's comment. The soft, measured tone of his words perfectly matched the somber cast of his features. "The only face I wanted to see." 

Jim felt warmth tinge his cheeks, but he didn't respond. His heart clenched at the thought of remembering the awful time aloud. Of putting words to the images that still flashed through his head with the starkness of a flash-photo-explosion. Blair face-down in the water. Blair limp and blue on the grass. Jim had absolutely no desire to hear his lover talk about that time, either. But he saw that road opening up before them, the path Blair wanted to lead him down. 

"Don't be scared," Blair said, as if reading his mind. "Not anymore. I'm here, you're here, Alex is gone. I know I messed up pretty bad, but I'm going to make it up to you - " 

"Whoa, Chief!" Jim's qualms vanished in the face of that dreadfully inaccurate sentence. He turned to more fully face his partner, and hitched one jean-clad knee up on the sofa's edge . "You didn't mess up! I'm the one who screwed things up so bad." 

"That's not what I remember." 

"Then you remember wrong," Jim answered brokenly. Shame made him drop his gaze to his lap. Now would be a very good time to zone, to disappear, anything at all to get away from the realization that not only had he kicked Blair out of his life and nearly gotten him killed, but made him think it was somehow his fault. 

Zoning didn't appear to be an option, though, not with that still chilled hand wrapped in his. 

"I should have made you listen to me about Alex the first time," Blair said quietly. His voice dropped even more. "I shouldn't have left when you needed me." 

Jim's mind whirled, casting out a half-remembered conversation. "The woman you met at the station." 

"Yeah. You were a little uptight that night, and the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a bad idea to tell you when something was already eating at you." Blair closed his eyes briefly. "It was her all along, wasn't it? We've been out of sync for awhile now, and I just didn't get it before." 

"We haven't--" 

"Yes, we have," Blair interrupted. His free hand played with the corner of the afghan, worried at a few stray threads. "You know things weren't right between us even before Alex turned up." 

Jim hesitated before answering. He wanted to phrase things exactly right, to make sure Blair understood exactly what he was saying. "Things weren't perfect," he agreed. "We've had some down periods. But Chief, even the worst times we've had were better than my best times with Carolyn." 

Blair's face lifted. His eyes reflected both suspicion and hope as he searched Jim's expression. "Really?" 

"Really." Jim squeezed Blair's hand. "I don't know why things weren't right. Maybe because we keep hiding how we feel in front of everyone. So many times in the hospital I wanted to kiss you, to hold you in my arms, to tell you everything I felt - but I couldn't. Not with the doctors, nurses, Simon, the guys . . . " 

Blair frowned. "The hiding part sucks, I know. When you and Megan pretended to be married on that stakeout - I know it was pretend, but I hated it." 

"That's why you went after the neighbor?" 

Blair's voice dropped. "Yeah. Kind of immature, huh?" 

"No. Not immature. " Jim lifted Blair's hand and kissed it. He braced himself for a dive into deeper truth. Now or never, Ellison, he told himself. "Maybe the tension was because I've been so scared of what will happen when your thesis is done." 

"What do you mean?" 

"When it's done, there won't be any justification for you being my partner. Because Simon won't be able to explain your observer status. Because I don't know what I'll do without you at my side." 

There, he'd said it. Given voice to the little terror. 

Blair leaned forward, stifling a groan that no one but a Sentinel could have heard, and grabbed Jim's other hand. They sat linked across the center cushion. "I'm not leaving you, Jim. Not ever again. Even if you physically throw me out, even if you get a restraining order. Simon knows you need me, and we'll work something out. You know he'll help us." 

"What if it's out of his hands?" 

"Then ... we'll worry about that when it happens." Blair blew out a long breath. Whatever it takes, I'll be there." 

"I can't promise not to push you away again," Jim said, knowing his own instincts were always to put up walls when he felt threatened. 

Blair smiled. "I don't push easily. This time, well, I let my own feelings get in the way. I was hurt and angry, and I didn't think about what was really going on. The whole territory thing, you know. You're a Sentinel, man. Your instincts are to protect your territory. I should have thought about what another Sentinel poaching on your space would do to you." 

"In more ways that one, Chief." At Blair's puzzled look, Jim continued. "Her scent was on you. Every time I got a whiff, it made me mad. 

"Wow," Blair said. His face lit up in the special way it always did when something caught his attention or interest. It had been a long time since Jim had seen that particular vitality, and its return made a giant weight lift off his chest. "You could *smell* another Sentinel . . . Jim, that's great! Burton never said anything about that." 

"Well, now we know," Jim said dryly. 

Blair grinned at him as if all hurts had been forgiven, all problems resolved. Jim found himself returning the favor. Blair moved forward suddenly, homing in for a kiss, but his body betrayed him. "Ouch," he said, stopping mid-stream, face twisted into a grimace. 

"Careful," Jim chided. He scooted closer and tried to ease Blair back to a comfortable position. The younger man would have none of that. He ended up nestled against Jim's chest, the two of them sitting in the sun's warmth, their bodies entwined. From somewhere on the sidewalk below a woman's laugh floated up, and the persistent ring-ring of a child's bicycle bell followed. Jim kissed the top of Blair's head and wrapped his arms around the smaller frame, aware of how much he'd missed their cuddling, how good it felt to be back in each other's arms. 

"I've missed this a lot," Blair murmured against Jim's chest. "I'm telling you, holding you would have been better for me than 1,000 shots of antibiotics." 

"I'm not so sure about that," Jim said. "You were pretty sick." 

"Did you think . . . I was going to die?" 

"I was afraid you might." 

"That would be a shitty thing for me to do," Blair said. 

Although Jim privately agreed, he said, "It didn't happen. It's water under the bridge." 

Blair nestled even closer. "Megan told me how you wouldn't give up on campus. How you kept doing CPR even when everyone else gave up." 

Despite the sunlight and the press of their bodies, Jim felt a distinct chill. He pulled the afghan over them both. Blair lifted his head and asked, "Jim?" 

"I can't talk about it now." 

"You have to, you know, sooner or later." 

"Then I choose later." He'd choose not at all if possible, but Blair would worry at this just like he did every other problem he encountered, puzzling over the shades of meaning in every word Jim said, every unguarded expression. His partner knew him entirely too well. 

He'd never let another person this close to him, not since he was a kid. Somehow, Blair had slipped in through every barrier, past every wall. But not this one. Blair didn't need to handle this. 

"I wondered about the afterlife," Blair said thoughtfully. "I kinda expected the whole tunnel of light gig and reviewing what I'd learned in this life." 

He fell silent for a few minutes, one hand clutching Jim's tightly. Jim found himself torn between telling Blair not to go on - nothing good could come out of those dark minutes - and telling him to continue, knowing Blair's scientific curiosity should not be stifled just because of Jim's fears. He distracted himself by loosening his partner's hair from its loose ponytail and combing through the dark, curly strands with his fingers. God, how he loved Blair. Did Blair know how much? Could he ever understand the depth of Jim's emotion? 

Blair sighed contentedly and let the silence continue for a few minutes. Just when Jim thought he might have fallen asleep, the younger man spoke again. 

"I didn't see any tunnel, though. No 'This is Your Life.' It felt like I was falling and then ... nothing. The next thing I remember is being scared and hurting so bad." 

Jim kissed the silky strands. His heart ached with memory. 

"And then I saw your face," Blair murmured. "You looked happy, and I knew everything would be okay." 

Jim looked down, seeing the smile curving his lover's mouth. "I was happy. I still am. You're alive, and no one is going to take you from me again." 

"But I wasn't alive for awhile. They declared me dead." 

"They were wrong." 

"But - " 

"No, Chief. Listen to me. They were wrong. At the fountain, I just couldn't accept you were dead. Every inch of me said that was wrong. That's what kept me doing CPR." 

"Jim, denial is one of the stages of grief. Not being able to accept that I was dead is not proof I was alive." 

"It is to me," Jim said stubbornly. 

Blair kissed his cheek. "My big, strong Sentinel." 

"No, listen," Jim insisted. Annoyance rose inside him at the condescension in his partner's voice. "You weren't dead. You didn't go there. Whatever our bond is, the bond between Sentinel and Guide, I think it held you back. Long enough for me to get you back." 

Blair gazed at him somberly. "You really think so?" 

"Yes," Jim said flatly. "I really do. It was the worst moment of my life, Chief, seeing you face-down in that fountain. Being shot in the middle of the heart with a missile couldn't have hurt more. At the time I went kind of numb, but later - in the hospital - it kept hitting me, again and again." 

He had to stop for breath then, before the memories overwhelmed him with pain. The few seconds of pause made him realize he'd been lured yet again into a conversation he'd wanted to avoid - Sandburg trick number three. 

"I said I didn't want to talk about it, Chief." 

"Yeah, you said that," Blair agreed softly. "But you needed to, man. You really needed to." 

Jim pulled him close again, letting Blair's physical presence wash over him with a sense of relief he hadn't allowed himself to feel before. Blair's scent, lightly musky beneath the antibiotics and hospital smell, filled his nose. Blair's heart pounded reassuringly steadily against his chest. As though he understood the sudden need for physical closeness, his partner lay passively in his arms, giving Jim the time to absorb him again, to bring him back into the circle of two they'd created for themselves. 

The moment broke when Blair yawned against his chest, and Jim shifted to look down into the sleepy blue eyes. "Sounds like somebody needs a nap." 

"I just woke up a couple of hours ago," Blair protested. 

"Chief." Jim's voice broke alarmingly and he struggled to get it under control again. "Just let me take care of you now, okay? Get better and we'll talk all you want," he promised recklessly. 

"Can I sleep upstairs?" Blair asked, his lashes lowering to hide his eyes, though the rest of his face clearly showed a longing that made Jim's throat tighten. 

He hadn't dared presume to move Blair's things upstairs again, though he'd hoped his partner might forgive him eventually and come back by his own choice. 

"Yes, sweetheart," Jim answered, embarrassing wetness coming to his eyes. "Of course you can. All the time. Never believe otherwise." 

Blair pressed his lips against Jim's. The kiss restored all of Jim's faith in the world, stirred him to passion, left him whole again. Blair broke away first, but his bright eyes, rosy cheeks, and brilliant smile told Jim all he needed to know. 

"Up you go," Jim proposed, and lifted Blair in his arms. 

"Hey!" Blair protested. "I can walk!" 

"I know you can," Jim grinned. "But I want to carry you. I'm your big, strong Sentinel, right?" 

Blair laughed. "Always was and always will be." 

"That's exactly what I needed to hear," Jim said, and started them both up the stairs toward their future together. 

The end :-) 

Feedback can be sent to Aramae & Thalasia at: thalasia@mindspring.com 


End file.
